Aylwen Alone
by RosieG.9012
Summary: Aylwen adjusts to the world outside her clan as she travels to the Divine Conclave.
1. Aylwen in Kirkwall

The Lowtown market was abuzz with noise, as well as smells that made Aylwen's nose wrinkle. She clutched her pack to her back and tried not to get swept up by the crush of people moving in all directions. She'd last been in Kirkwall ten years ago, when she was only a child. She still remembered most of that day clearly but she didn't remember the city being quite this overwhelming. Perhaps it was because she'd been with her clan then. Today, she was alone.

Aylwen kept walking, careful to keep a hand on her pack at all times. There were thieves in shemlen cities, she'd been told. Also slavers and Templars and others who might try to harm an elven mage. She would have to be careful and alert, so, as she felt for her pack, she also reassured herself that she would be able to grab her staff quickly if need be. It's presence on her back was already drawing her a fair few stares, but better to be stared at than defenseless if something happened.

She walked a little further, then stopped by the wall of a tall building to take stock of her surroundings. She was pretty sure she was going the right way. A sign a few streets back had told her the docks were in this direction. But, stopping, she realized for the first time how fast her heart was beating, how dizzy she was. It was as though she'd run for several miles across rough terrain, not walked slowly down (mostly) paved roads.

She swallowed. She had thought being in the city would be exciting, but now that she was here it was really hitting her how, well, alone she was. How vulnerable and exposed she felt without her clan.

Suddenly, a smell wafted over to where Aylwen stood, and this time it was pleasant. Meat and vegetables, and something else she couldn't identify. She sniffed and her stomach growled. Another thing she'd failed to realize was how hungry she was. She clenched her fist, and with her other hand felt for the money belt hidden beneath her travel cloak. Now or never. There was no time to feel sorry for herself.

It took her three attempts to approach the market stall that was the source of the lovely smell. Three attempts to work up the courage. But finally, resolved, she pushed through the crowd and stomped right up, fists balled.

Lined atop the stall were rows upon rows of small, oval shaped pastries. They were golden brown and slightly shiny, and bordered with grooves that looked like the weave of a basket. Aylwen stared at them in awe, mouth watering. She knew what pastries were—trading parties occasionally brought them back after visits to shemlen towns—but she could count the number of times she'd eaten them on one hand.

She tore her gaze away from the food to look up at the tall human man standing behind the rows. He was pulling new pastries out of a small oven behind him, then lining them up on empty spots along the shelves. He didn't even glance at her. She cleared her throat.

"Excuse me," she said.

He didn't look up.

"Excuse me," she said, more loudly. "I'd like to buy one, please."

Finally, the shopkeeper turned her way. His eyes moved from her ears, to her vallaslin, and down to her travel clothes. His shoulders heaved as he seemed to sigh.

"You'll have to pay," he said, like he didn't expect her to know this.

But Aylwen did know, and she felt a flutter of excitement at the chance to show that she could, in fact, use human money.

"I can pay," she replied brightly.

The shopkeeper looked skeptical, but he pulled one of the dumplings from the shelf regardless and placed it into a small paper bag for her.

"Three coppers," he said.

Aylwen nodded. She pulled out the money belt, and, frowning, carefully searched for three of the small, brownish coins. She handed them to the shopkeeper, on tenterhooks as she waited to see if she'd done it right.

He counted the money, studying the coins for longer than seemed entirely necessary, before he nodded. Without looking at her, he handed her the small bag, then turned back to his work.

Aylwen clutched the bag to her chest and practically skipped away, glad but also jittery, as though she'd gotten away with something. The bag was warm in her hands. She stopped beside another building not far from the stall and, after pulling the pastry from it's bag with a satisfying crackle, began to eat—slowly, savoring each bite.

As the tastes of light, flaky bread, meat, and herbed vegetables flowed over her tongue, she watched the people moving about the marketplace. She saw humans, dwarves, elves without vallaslin—people of all shapes and sizes. They were all different, all with lives of their own, all unknown to her. Still chewing, she smiled.

The sky was clear, there were new voices all around her, and the food was like nothing she'd ever tasted. Aylwen's smile grew. At last she was out in the world, just as she'd always dreamed she would be.


	2. Aylwen at Sea

Aylwen lay miserably in the belly of the ship taking her from the Free Marches to Fereldan. Outside a storm raged, and with each wave the vessel bobbed violently—up, down, up, down. Aylwen's stomach went with it.

She'd been sick all day, from the moment they left the Kirkwall docks and entered open water. It hadn't been so bad in daylight, when the sky was clear and she could at least feel the sun on her skin when she vomited over the side. But when the clouds appeared and night began to fall, she and the rest of the passengers had to go below decks to sleep, most of them—all the elves, anyway—on the floor with nothing but thin blankets to cover them. Aylwen didn't mind this part so much. She was used to sleeping on the ground, and when she lay flat on her back she could almost anticipate the motion of the ship before it happened, which abated her nausea somewhat.

They rose once more on a great wave, only to smash back down with a jolt. She lay as still as she could and tried to focus all her energy on not being sick, on ignoring the sounds, and smells, of other passengers being sick around her. But no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept drifting back home.

If Keeper Deshanna were there, she would have made Aylwen special potions to ease the pain in her stomach, or held her hair back when she vomited. The hahren might drop by to distract her with a story, or perhaps one of Aylwen's friends with a new bit of gossip to share. Back with her clan, there was always someone nearby, someone to talk to. Here she was surrounded by strangers.

Her eyes stung. One tear, then another slid down her cheeks. She sniffed and wiped them away. There was no reason to cry. She wasn't sad about leaving, and she certainly wasn't homesick. This was what she wanted.

Still, the tears kept coming, and now she put her energy into stifling them. She had a feeling that if she didn't, everything was going to burst out of her in a sob the whole vessel might hear. Or perhaps no one would notice.

That thought made the tears come faster. Ignoring her fears of sickness, she curled on her side, pulled her blanket over her head, and cried hard into her sleeve.

ooo

To Aylwen's surprise, she felt better the next morning. Both her stomach and the intense rocking of the ship seemed to have settled, and when she walked above deck she was greeted by a vast blue sky and a cool breeze.

She threaded her way through passengers and crew members and leaned out over the railing to study the restless sea. In that moment she could barely remember what had made her cry so hard the night before.

As the two weeks onboard the ship passed, Aylwen's love for the sea grew. She loved the salty smell in the air, the crash and dance of the waves, and the occasional sighting of a whale or dolphin. She spent every moment she could above deck, leaning over the side as she had on that first morning, watching the horizon line and wondering about hulking rocks and distant islands.

The sea made Aylwen think about possibilities, about the home that lay behind and the uncertainty that lay ahead. The thought of home still ached in her chest, but the future was like the sea itself—every direction an unknown, but each one so tantalizing to consider that she almost didn't want to reach her destination. She wanted to stay still, poised on the edge of all possibilities. But only almost.


End file.
